Huang Zitao is stumbling through a golden field of wheat, swollen ankle dragging behind him in an unnatural angle.

When he breathes, it’s in sharp gasping intakes and panting exhales.

Eyes hooded, muscles tense with adrenaline, Tao continues to lurch forward.

The wheat beats him as he staggers by, leaving behind a bloodstained trail as splatters begin to trace their path down, staining the stalks a crimson red.

But he continues to run, his breath is coming shorter— he needs to—

“TAO!”

When Tao turns to face the noise, he turns seconds too slow. By the time he sees Kris’ face, it’s already too late.

BANG!

The sound of the door slamming shut behind his mother as she leaves is as loud as a gunshot in Tao's mind. He stared down at the floor, hands tensely folded in his lap, trying his hardest not to jiggle his leg.

He didn’t want to do this.

“So, (Tao is it?), your mother tells me you’ve been having a hard time dealing with your stepfather’s death. She’s been worried.”

Tao snorted in disbelief.

Dr. Byun looked up from his clipboard at Tao's reaction. When he looked at the young man sitting before him, he was immediately taken aback by the amount of seething hatred burning in his dark brown eyes. 

Dr. Byun scrambled to take notes.

Tao remained silent the entire time, the glower lessening just a fraction in intensity as he stared around the room.

White floor, white ceilings. In fact, the only color in the room was in the hideously patterned lime green and paisley chaise that Tao was seated on. It reminded him too much of a hospital, and he knew that the only reason the chaise had a hint of color was to try and induce some kind of feeling of ‘welcoming’ and ‘comfort’ in him.

Tao saw through it right away, and couldn’t have been more disgusted.

“Well, would you like to get started by talking about your childhood, maybe?”

…Apparently not.

Dr. Byun tapped his pencil impatiently against his clipboard when the other chose to remain quiet, putting the clipboard down briefly to pick up the patient file that had been set aside for him instead. He opened it, examining its contents for the first time. 

Patient name: Huang Zitao (“Tao”)

Gender: Male

Age: 18

History:

…

Dr. Byun widened his eyes as he continued to read, flicking through the thick pages, before looking at Tao from over the top of his glasses.

“You're…”

Tao cut him off by speaking for the first and last time that session.

...you want to know about my childhood?

Tao had been a premature baby, born too small, too sickly, to be loved by either of his parents.

He had been too young to remember anything of his father. The only thing he knew of the man were the snippets of whispers that he had heard from their constantly changing lineup of maids, cooks and housekepers. 

A stern, unpleasant man. With a love for hard drinks and loose women. 

Whether it was for his alcoholism, or his promiscuity, nobody was sure, but when Tao was still a few months old, his mother took a kitchen knife and stabbed his father five times. 

She had miraculously missed any vital organs though, and he had survived. But he hadn’t stayed. For whatever reason, he hadn’t pressed charges either, nor asked for custody of their only child. He had simply disappeared.

So Tao had remained with his mother. 

Maybe that was the punishment for her crimes, he had once heard someone whisper, when he was just seven.

She had still been fairly young, at the time, and she had been a well known beauty, so it didn't long for his mother to find husband number two.

Just a year after her divorce, her mother had found and married a man named Kim Joonmyun. 

Suho-papa, as he came to be known to Tao in the years that followed. And then, just Dad.

Of Suho, Tao never had any complaints. He was the dad that any kid could have wished for - doting, engaging, encouraging. Suho was the only father Tao acknowledged, and the only father that he had ever needed.

However, for as strong as the relationship between Tao and Suho remained, the one between Suho and his mother faded, and faded quickly.

His mother was manipulative, temperamental, and cruel, all of which were traits that Tao knew all too well. As a child, he used to walk around with bruises all over his body from where his mother had decided to lay a hand on him for whichever reason she had come up with for that day.

For not coming when I asked you,

for sleeping in too late,

for not speaking up,

for crying too much,

for laughing too loud,

for getting in my way.

It was no wonder that Tao grew up to be a quiet, sullen young man. 

But… Suho had remained at Tao’s side for all of those years, guiding him, comforting him, defending him. Sometimes, Tao wondered if Suho had stayed just for him.

Tao had loved his stepfather, for having been so different from everyone else in his life.

It was the eve of Tao’s eighteenth birthday, and he was running through the vividly green tallgrass to find his present. He could hear windchimes, blowing in the distance, as the wind gently ran through his hair.

It was tradition – every year, Suho would hide his gift for him, and Tao would spend the entire day searching the entire property for it. It didn’t matter what it was – in fact, Tao always knew what it was, because he had received the same thing, every single year.

It was only too bad, really, that his stepfather couldn’t have been here that day to see him find his present. But it was only the second time he had ever missed Tao’s birthday, so Tao could excuse him for it. 

“I’m going on a business trip. I’m sorry.”

“Oh… it’s okay. Bring me back something nice. You know, for my birthday.”

“I’m way ahead of you, little peach. ...You haven’t found it yet?”

Today, it took him three hours of searching high and low, under branches, in the barns, through the kitchen, in the attic, until he finally climbed a tree, and found the familiar white box with the bright red bowtie, lying inside of a fake bird’s nest.

Dad was getting better and better every year, Tao noted with ecstatic joy. He pulled the leaves and twigs out of his hair, wiping the dirt from his face with his sleeve. Tao smiled widely in his excitement, picking up his present and tracing his fingers over the crimson bow, before pulling it off and opening the box.

His expression quickly changed from joyful to shocked, however, when he pulled out something that wasn't at all what he had been anticipating.

A golden key, on a small chain necklace.

It was the day of the wake, and Tao hid himself in the kitchen, away from the prying eyes and hands of strangers who kept appearing to offer him fake apologies and empty condolences.

There was a fly buzzing around.

Tao gripped his key, rubbing his fingers over the cool metal and tracing the fly’s path midair with his eyes as he pretended not to hear the whispers of the maids as they bustled around the kitchen.

“Terrible way to die. Can you imagine? Traveling down a road, 50 miles per hour, only to realize your brakes were malfunctioning and hurtling off a bridge.”

“Yes, absolutely horrible. …But don't you think he might have done it on purpose?”

“Maybe. Either way, he’s better off. He was the only bright spot in this entire household, if you ask me.”

“If you have nothing better to do than gossip, then get out of the kitchen!” Tao glanced up to see their head housekeeper, Mr. Zhang Yixing, enter the kitchen, only to shoo the women out with a disapproving and stern look. They scattered, leaving the kitchen with their hands over their heads in protest.

When Yixing turned around, it was with a worried expression on his face. Tao pulled his eyes off of the fly’s path to give a vague, faltering smile in Yixing's direction, gaze falling between Yixing’s sole remaining eye and the white medical patch that had always covered the other.

A noise finally pulled Tao out of his thoughts as he looked in front of him to see Yixing placing a basket of hard boiled eggs down.

“Could you do me a favor and help me with these, Tao?”

Yixing’s words were, as usual, gentle and kind. Tao nodded readily, already reaching in to pull an egg out. 

Pleased, Yixing pet the back of Tao’s head affectionately before moving back to where he had been nursing a pot of soup. Tao stared at the egg in his hands, holding it up to the light and closing one eye to examine it closely. 

Its shell was a glossy and flawless white.

Tao slammed it violently onto the table, watching with satisfaction as spidery cracks spread. When Yixing looked over at the noise, however, Tao was back to rolling the egg gently across the table, getting the rest of the shell off in smooth, sweeping motions.

A flicker caught Yixing’s eye, and the housekeeper stopped stirring.

“Where’d you get that necklace, Tao?”

Tao looked down at the necklace in question briefly, eyes flickering in remembrance.

“…Dad’s birthday present.”

When Yixing gave a sad, secretive smile at his response, Tao narrowed his eyes.

“Yixing… tell me honestly - do you know anything about this key?”

Yixing turned his head to the side to regard Tao with an emotion that Tao couldn't seem to process. When he turned around fully and opened his mouth to speak, Tao finally recognized it for what it was – fear.

“That key –“

“—Ah, so this is where you’ve been hiding, Zitao.”

The two of them turned to see Tao’s mother, walking in. Yixing turned away immediately upon seeing her, going back to quietly stirring the soup, while his mother sneered in return, her usually perfectly drawn face contorting unattractively. 

Whipping her head around to regard her son, his mother stared at him with detachment, moving a hand out to drag a scarlet-clawed finger under Tao’s chin. Mother and son regarded each other with barely hidden contempt.

“...You’re not wearing your bowtie. Put it on and come out to the parlor, you can’t skulk in the kitchen all day with servants. It's not proper. Besides, there are guests here I want you to meet.”

Without waiting for a response, his mother walked away, hips swaying, a song on her lips. Tao felt his own lips drawing in a grimace. Only his mother could make a wake into a social event. 

Yixing's next words came with a hint of soft sadness, a vast difference from his mother's harsh voice.

“...Your mother is right, Tao. You should do as she says. We can always talk later, when this is all over.”

Tao remained at the kitchen table though, watching as the fly he had been observing landed on the table. Without thinking, Tao slammed his hand over it, watching as liquid oozed out from between his fingers.

When Tao finally stepped out into the hall he was still fiddling with his bowtie. He used the natural light that flooded the room from beyond the doorway, pulling and tugging at his bowtie with frustration written all over his face.

His motions were cut off when a shadow emerged and moved into the doorway, blocking his light.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Tao looked up to see a tall figure approaching him, handing him a bouquet of flowers that Tao took without thinking. He tried to pull away as long, skeletal fingers reached out toward his neck, but the man’s other hand shot out to grab his shoulder, not allowing him to. As the other bent over to fix his bowtie, he looked down to stare at the man. 

Tao was dressed dourly in a black suit, as were the rest of the mourners that had arrived for the funeral. This man, though, was dressed in a light grey suit. While Tao's own hair was a somber, deep black, the stranger's hair was a light brown, expertly pulled away from his face in a way that shouted rich, suave. Taking a breath in, Tao breathed in a whiff of the man’s cologne and closed his eyes.

It was a heady, strong, dangerous smell. Tao wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not.

He’d never seen him before. A friend of dad’s?

“There.”

As the man stood back up, Tao looked down to see his bowtie, perfectly tied. He looked back up, stiffening when he realized that the man hadn’t stepped away at all. When he locked eyes with the stranger, a strange, curled smile grew on the stranger’s face and the man was suddenly looking at him a little too intensely, trailing his eyes down his body and back up to meet his own. Tao felt his palms growing sweaty, but couldn’t find himself able to pull away from the other’s strange gaze. 

“Ah, I see you’ve met each other already.” His mother spoke, coming out from one of the side rooms.

Her words washed over him and he hardly paid any attention, catching only something about a Kris, traveling the world, and just came from India. 

“…Kris?”

Kris’ face broke out into a wide, delighted smile upon finally hearing Tao’s voice, and the man eagerly reached a hand out to his.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much.” 

Tao stared down at the other’s large hand before warily bringing up his own to reciprocate.

Kris’ grip was warm, and constricting. A little too constricting, Tao thought, as he struggled not to flinch. The other’s grip tightened just a fraction further, and Tao felt a thumb swipe over the back of his hand, reacting with an uncontrolled shiver of his own.

“Kris is your stepbrother.” His mother spoke, from somewhere behind them.

Tao suddenly wanted to puke.

He tore out of the other’s grip, mumbling something about needing to go before throwing the flowers back into the other's arms and running out of the house.

My stepbrother?

Why haven’t I ever…?

Tao felt sick, remembering the way Kris' eyes had roved over his body.

For the next few hours, Tao stayed out by the big oak tree, sitting idly on the tire swing Suho had built him when he had been a child and trying his best not to think of the man his mother had claimed to have been his brother. 

It wasn't until the skies had turned dark and gray, and the first drizzles of rain hit his cheek, had Tao gotten up, making his way back to the house.

The slow drizzles quickly became a torrent of rain, and Tao found himself trudging through the mud in his previously polished dress shoes and suit. Still, Tao took his time, finding no reason nor any motivation to hurry back into the house.

So he took the long way around, the winding path through the gardens where the stone statues and carefully trimmed bushes that lined the trail reminded him more of monsters through the pounding rain. But the grotesque illusions that he saw through the darkness were comforting in comparison to the mocking, blurred faces of the creatures inside of the house, drinking champagne and clinking their expensive, crystal glasses beside the body of his father. 

Lost in his thoughts, Tao almost missed the flicker of movement from inside the greenhouse. Tao stopped where he was, just beyond the bushes, and peered in.

All he could see was the back of Yixing’s head as he spoke with someone else who Tao couldn’t quite make out. He squinted, able to see only bits and details of the other’s body from where it wasn’t blocked by Yixing’s own. He thought he could make out the details of a grey suit. 

Kris…?

Tao was puzzled, noticing the aggressive gestures that Yixing seemed to be throwing at his stepbrother, something that he wouldn’t have anticipated seeing between two strangers. Unfortunately, the glass of the greenhouse was thick enough that Tao couldn’t hear the details of the conversation they were having.

What are they...?

Tao’s thoughts were broken when a clap of thunder sounded behind him, lightning quickly following as it illuminated the sky behind him. Tao in a breath when Kris peered out from over Yixing’s shoulder, pointing at Tao and causing the housekeeper to whip around with his sole eye wide with fear. 

Tao remained standing in the rain by the window, shivering in the cold, until Yixing had run out to get him, throwing his own jacket over the young man as he began to pull him toward the main house. Tao let the housekeeper direct him inside slowly but kept his eyes on his stepbrother, watching as the other man gave a small smile, lifting a single hand in greeting before disappearing somewhere between the foliage.

Yixing had once been a handsome man. Of that, anyone could tell. Smooth, kind features, a dimpled smile, and a personality that charmed anyone he met. His one and only facial flaw was the patch that he wore over his right eye, day in and day out. 

Just once, Tao had seen what had lain under that patch. When he was younger, suffering from restlessness, Tao had snuck into's Yixing's room at night, while the man was still asleep. 

The patch lay on the dresser.

It was with curiosity that Tao regarded the misshapen, gaping hole where his right eye had once been.

Maybe his eye was hiding, Tao thought to himself in a way only a child could.

Distractedly, Tao wondered how deep the hole went, and pictured sinking his fingers deep into it, until he could reach in and pull out what had been hidden inside for so long.

It was with curious, trembling fingers that Tao traced the patch once again, the cloth material as the housekeeper remained on his knees, drying off Tao’s legs and feet with a towel.

“…Does it hurt?”

Yixing looked up, distractedly. “Wha—? Oh, no, of course not. It hasn’t for years.”

This time, he gently brushed Tao’s fingers out of the way before pressing the back of his hand against Tao’s forehead, feeling his temperature.

“Tao, what on earth were you doing outside in that weather? Your mother has been looking for you for hours.”

Tao scowled, eyes drawn back to the window where it was still raining outside.

Tao’s attention was suddenly caught, when, with no warning, Yixing suddenly cupped his face with shaky hands.

“You’ve met your stepbrother… haven’t you?”

Tao was too surprised by the sudden intensity in Yixing’s expression, only able to nod numbly.

“Tao, listen to me. No matter what, don’t trust anything Kris says or does, do you hear me?”

There was urgency in Yixing’s eye, and Tao found his own eyes widening, mouth opening to question Yixing’s statement, only to be hushed. 

“I can’t explain it to you, not here, not now. But you don’t ever need to worry about a thing, alright? Even though Suho isn’t here to protect you anymore, I’m here.”

Yixing was rubbing his cheeks tenderly.

“I’ll always be here. I’ll keep you safe, little peach.”

The day after the funeral, head housekeeper Zhang Yixing went missing, and never came back.

Good riddance, his mother had spat, upon hearing the news.

Tao couldn’t help but wonder if his mother had gone around their backs and had fired the man. She had never liked Yixing – something about the intimate way that Suho and Yixing had interacted with each other had always rubbed her the wrong way.

Tao, on the other hand, was devastated by this second loss. 

Yixing had always been more a motherly figure to him than his own mother had been, and it made Suho’s loss even more difficult to realize that the only two people in the world who had ever given an actual damn about him, were gone.

He spent the entire day in his room, sobbing uncontrollably. 

Yixing had been right. Tao shouldn’t have stayed out so long in the rain. He had come down with the worst cold in the world, and was forced to stay confined up in his room for the entirety of the following week.

In this time, he watched as his mother found the son that she had always wanted and never had in Kris. 

From his barred window on the second floor, he watched as the two of them had played tennis and went out for long drives in Kris’ corvette on the wide expanse of their property.

Kris liked to garden, Tao noticed. When he wasn't entertaining Tao's mother, the older man spent hours outside, working underneath the sun dressed in a wifebeater, digging out new plots and irrigating their garden. His mother was delighted, when, by the end of the week, their yard was covered with beautiful, sprouting flowers.

He really shouldn’t have been jealous. He hated his mother. But on the inside, he seethed in anger.

What is it that he has that I don’t, mother?

It was on a Tuesday evening that week that a knock on Tao’s door had startled him from where he had been in the midst of reading a book.

“Come in,” Tao had said in a hoarse, sickly voice.

It was to his great surprise that Kris walked in, carrying a single mug in his hand. 

Tao stared at him in silence, unsure of what the other wanted. After a moment of staring, his stepbrother moved to the side of his bed, and set the mug down on his nightstand.

“... What is it?” Tao asked, looking down at the swirling, dark liquid that steamed from the cup.

“Hot cocoa. I heard you were sick, and I thought that this might help.”

Tao curled his lip, looking away from the cup and back at his book. “… I hate sweet things.”

“I know. It’s dark chocolate.”

Tao furrowed his eyebrows. “… How did you know?”

Tao stiffened as the other man sat down on the side of Tao’s bed, suddenly closer to Tao than he had ever wanted the other man to be.

“The housekeeper told me.”

Tao in a sudden breath, sitting up straight. “Yixing spoke to you? When? Did he say anything to you about leaving when you two were talking in the greenhouse that night?”

f

Tao looked at Kris’ perfect facial expressions, from the eyes that were shining too brightly, to the strange smile that sent chills up Tao’s spine.

“Tao, listen to me. No matter what, don’t trust anything Kris says or does, do you hear me?”

Tao slammed his book shut. 

“You really want me to tell you what I'm thinking? I don’t know why you thought you could just come here, uninvited, and muscle your way into my life, but let me tell you this – I don’t want you and I don’t need you in my life. I could care less that you’re my stepbrother, and frankly, if I had the choice, you wouldn't be. I know something is wrong here, and once I figure out what you're doing, you'll be sorry. So you can drop the act. I can see what you’re doing to mother, and I’d rather drop dead before I let you do the same with me.”

Tao paused to in a breath, and watched with satisfaction as Kris’ smile dropped.

However, Tao could see something swirling in the man’s dark eyes, and then that strange smile was back again, this time with a deeply unsettling quality.

“We’ll see about that, Tao.”

Tao pointed at the door. “… Get out.”

Kris nodded, sliding off the bed slowly, and making his way to the door. Placing a hand on the doorframe, his stepbrother paused, turning back to regard Tao with dark eyes.

“... The relationship you and I have is much deeper than the one your mother and I have, Tao. We’re bonded together, whether you like it or not. I’m sure you’ll come to find that out soon enough.” 

Kris shut the door behind him quietly.

Tao remained frozen, gripping his book until he had torn through the cover with his nails. His eyes slid to the nightstand, where the mug was still laying innocently. With unsteady hands, he pried his hands off the book, taking the mug that was on his nightstand.

He stared down at the dark liquid, and took a small sip.

Tao had never tasted anything more wonderful.

The cup smashed against the wall opposite him, its contents splashing against the wall and dripping down, staining the wallpaper a dark brown.

The next morning, Tao found a single white tulip outside of his room.

I’m sorry.

Read the note attached to it.

Tao found the nearest trash can, viciously ripped up the note and the flower, and threw them in.

After a week, the sickness had broken and Tao finally felt strong enough to make his way to class. He pulled on his uniform, haphazardly doing up his tie and pulling his book bag over his head before heading downstairs.

“You’re leaving?” He heard his mother call out from the kitchen.

He chose not to respond, opening the door and slamming it shut behind him.

Something nagged at the back of his head as he made his way to the gate, so Tao turned to look back up at the house, only to discover that Kris had been standing in the window the entire time, watching him.

Tao in a breath and shuddered at the sight, quickly turning away to leave.

“Today’s assignment is to practice still life painting. If everyone can find an easel and have a seat, let’s go ahead and get started. You’ll have the entire class period to paint this vase of flowers.”

Like every assignment, Tao took the painting seriously, focusing intensely on the paper in front of him as he carefully pressed his pencil into it, making decisive, slow across its white expanse.

Behind him, he could hear snickering. Kai, Chen and Sehun were up to their usual antics. 

“Jesus ing Christ, Mr. Do gives the worst assignments.”

“Shut up, Kai, this class is supposed to be an easy A.”

“So? I don’t want to draw ing... flowers. I mean come on?!”

Tao turned around to shoot them a baleful look, shushing them with a finger up to his lips. The three lifted their hands in mock surrender. By the time he had turned back around, though, they were back at it, this time with a particular focus on Tao.

“Look at the way he holds that pencil. Oh so delicately, or else his wrist might just break off. .”

Tao gritted his teeth, gripping the pencil tighter in his hands. 

“Hey, shut up man, you don’t want him to turn around and shush us again, do you? I was sooo terrified!”

Tao gripped the pencil even tighter, digging the point into the paper as he continued to sketch, this time with faster, carving .

“Guys, guys, check out my masterpiece. It’s our boy Tao.”

“Hahaha, I can hear him squealing about it now! ‘Oh, Kai, please draw me like one of your French girls!’”

The pencil snapped in Tao’s hand and he whipped around – only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Gentlemen, unless you’d like to be sent back to the principal’s office for the third time this week –“

“Jesus, teach, we weren’t doing nothing to him. Just a bit of roughhousing that boys do, isn’t that right, guys?”

Sehun and Chen had a hard time keeping a straight face as they crossed their fingers and nodded up at Mr. Do. The strict teacher narrowed his eyes, not believing for one second a word of what Kai had said. It didn’t matter what he thought though, as the sound of the bell suddenly rang, and the three troublemakers dispersed with a laugh out the door.

The art teacher turned with a sigh to Tao, only to realize that the boy was already packing his things away, quietly.

“Are you alright, Tao?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Do.”

“Are you sure? I’ve noticed that those boys pick on you a lot. If you’d like, I can have a talk with the principal and see if we can’t get a meeting between their parents and yours—“

“—I’m fine, Mr. Do. Really. Thanks for worrying.”

With those clipped words, Tao left the room and Mr. Do was left standing by his easel, eyes following his student's path out the door. The art teacher sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to look at Tao’s sketch.

What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

The paper was scarred, fraying in the center from where Tao had dug his pencil in.

Instead of a vase with flowers, Tao had chosen to begin to draw his own face. Where his facial features were supposed to be, Tao had chosen to replace it with a deep pit of black. 

From within, spiders and centipedes were crawling out, and ugly, grotesque flowers had sprouted.